


Blissful asphyxiation, to crush the words that matter most

by Nalyra



Series: Stormy blue, tinged with sunlight and tar [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Murder Husbands, POV First Person, POV Hannibal, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: The first time Will says 'I love you', Hannibals reaction borders on violent devotion.Shameless smut and feelings. Hannibals PoV.Missing/Enhanced scene from "Transition".





	Blissful asphyxiation, to crush the words that matter most

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, there is this one thing that's a cross between aftercare and non-con.  
> I did not explicitely tag this because imho that tag would not fit the scene.  
> Let me know if you disagree and I'll add it.
> 
>  
> 
> Also (again):  
> I suggest you get up to date with [A blackish red hue](http://archiveofourown.org/series/446146) if you haven't, because I managed to get surprised by my own plot twist *cough* (in "Resolution").
> 
> The events in "Revelation" and "Entrapment" (SotL) will eventually make an appearance and... well Hannibal knows things Will doesn't.

„Did she like all those truffles?“

Ah. Underlying jealousy still, pouring off of him in waves, so beautiful in it’s honesty. The fire of his ire has been tamed by consuming her leg and consuming our relationship, but not the remembered spite he feels every time our conversation as much as brushes by her name. I wonder if it ever will be this way, some part of me hoping so, indeed. I try to keep the elation out of my voice, opting for smug instead.

„She was not allowed to eat them. Bedelia was fed specifically to improve her taste. I wished we could have experienced the full effect of this diet, but, as it is, I still believe her meat was permanently positively influenced by it.“

His answering question comes swiftly, and, given our history, I cannot fault him. It is a touchy subject, and my hunger is obvious.

„Do you still wonder about mine?“

I hesitate to answer, it’s importance staying my words. I let my eyes drift over his face instead, down his body, can feel him squirm under my gaze. I lick my lips, the movement tracked by him, unconsciously echoed. Still, I cannot lie, but will amend. 

„I have sampled every taste of you I wish to taste, now. I will not taste your flesh again, except you offer it yourself.“

His beautiful eyes flick forth and backwards from my own for a long while, something I cannot name passing his face. He touches the bite mark I put on his neck just such a short while ago and I feel a pang of worry that he could regret, could wish for it to be gone. I breathe deeply, when I see him swallow, the need suffusing my mind.

„I … I don’t want to be hurt anymore. As in ‚hurt‘ hurt? No more sawing my head open or letting frustration take form of a knife. Please.“

All I can actually do is nod at this. I don’t… regret what I did, not exactly, misguided actions, yes, and even worse outcomes, and yet, yet the actions we both took have brought us here, now, when I can look at him and actually know what he looks like when ecstasy claims him, know how he tastes, know what he thinks, more often than not at least. I crave it, the hunger only stirred ever more with each feeding. Will continues and I listen closely to the little twitches in his voice, trying to look passed them, needing to look at his very soul. He blushes and I can feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth, amused that he would still be embarrassed by voicing his needs. Well, we hopefully do have quite some time to work on that. Wills voice is half amused, half embarrassed and oh so beautiful.

„I did like -that-, and I don’t mind you getting carried away a bit in the throes of passion, and I have to … admit that I rather like the intensity of it… And I never want you to feel like you have to pretend with me, again.“

I try to interject, something in me prickling at the mention of pretense, now, that I have worked so very hard to shed all the person suits.

„I assure you, I never pretended to…“

He cuts me off, my indignation at the action evaporating like dew in the sun when his words actually permeate my brain.

„You let go truly and wholly only when we got here. Before, there were no person suits anymore, no, not for me, but you were reigned in nonetheless. I want to be able to fully experience this with you. I already love you, I don’t want the hearts and flowers routine, we are way beyond that, I wanna be fully realized with you, also fully realized, at our full potential.“

There is a static in may mind, his last words lost to me. How I have longed for him to say this. It punches into my stomach, a brutal, unstoppable force that threatens to crush what is left of my composure.  
My heart thunders against its cage in my chest, uncharacteristically, and my throat is dry and I swallow, hard. Will fidgets, unconsciously picking up my stupor. In slow motion I see his lips form an ‚oh‘ and the need, always the need punches through my frozen soul, forcing me into action.

I throw the laptop to the ground, it and its contents already far from my mind.  
I draw Will in, one hand in his curls, tilting his head for me to devour his mouth, the other pressing him to me, my hand cupping his backside perfectly. I press forward and I feel him hit the wall just as my tongue invades his mouth, deep, deep, as deep as I can go. He moans and it reverberates through me, increasing the urgency, the slight note of pain sending sharp sparks of lust through me. His hands scrabble for purchase on my shoulders, but I refuse to let up, I need, need and I feel him surrender, oh so beautifully, accepting my air for his breath, accepting my force, accepting me … dominating him, here, outside the home we made for ourselves, in the sun.

I can feel him groan lightly as the movements of his hands become uncoordinated and I know I should let up and let him have more oxygen, but I cannot. His words have stolen my breath and the beast in me demands recompense, his breath a beautiful and adequate sacrifice, but I want more, need more, the darkness in me rearing up, tainting us blood red behind our closed eyes. 

I moan and start to suck on his tongue, mimicking, the effect almost humbling in immediacy, felt against my hip and my knee pushes his legs apart, echoing the motion of my mouth on his tongue against him. He shudders violently and I increase the pressure against his crotch and I wonder… and then I have to know. I move the hand from the back of his head to the front of his throat and lightly put it there, increasing the pressure with every breath, every push, until I know that he hangs on by a thread, slightly shaking, constantly moaning, breathless, into my mouth and I, I eat all the sounds he makes until my hand finally prevents them totally, and I groan, deeply, before I bite his tongue. My knee pushes in, viciously, my hand on his throat bruising. The cut my teeth made on his tongue wells up with is blood, and he jerks hard against me, silent, his essence offered to me almost in an afterthought, him, -mine-, suspended between our house and my body, controlled, protected and pleasured. 

I draw back slowly, releasing his mouth slowly, softly licking his lips as I withdraw, releasing his throat from my grip, my chest heaving, his sharp inhale unconscious, lids fluttering. His lips are slack and I feel a smile tug at my mouth, something viciously tender tugging at my soul. My hand drops from his throat to his heart and I feel it’s beat slow down from the frantic pace. I ghost a kiss over his closed eyes, and drag my lips over his still face, catching on the stubble, the sharp jaw and the vulnerable temple. His hands drop off of my shoulders slowly, thumping to the ground next to his legs. 

I press another kiss to his lips, bruised and plump, half open and I remember how I had wanted to do this, exactly this, to him. How the half lived vision of the unconscious feast he represented in the first few months of our relationship, forced by my meddling and his illness, fueled my feverish and yet tightly controlled dreams for far longer than I could have ever anticipated. I hum, shifting slightly, feeling the slight but inconsequential uncomfortable tightness of my own slacks. It will keep for later, enjoying this willingly surrendered moment is far more important. 

I swallow, feeling my stomach drop. I suck on his lower lip for a moment, my eyes closing with the tears that threaten to fall. His surrender to me is even more beautiful for him, with our history, with the scars that decorate our bodies and souls. He let me do this to him, accepting the 'little death' so easily at my hands, letting me, only holding on. I sigh against his still face, stealing one more moment for myself. I breathe in deeply and I groan quietly, needing to taste. 

I carefully brace his head, so beautiful in the literal palm of my hand, the low sun illuminating the colors in his hair. I lower him, to his side slowly, and then carefully roll him onto his back, making sure to make the movements flowing. I sigh, admitting to myself that I do not wish him to wake just yet and trail my gaze over him, committing the moment once more to memory. 

The bruises on his throat are deepening, and my mouth waters, the temptation to draw even more colors from the depth of his body to the surface of his skin a vicious thing, clawing at me. I groan and tear my eyes away, switching my attention to the sirens call of his essence, trapped within the confines of his jeans.  
I bow down, crouching on my knees next to him and inhale deeply, humming to myself. My mouth waters, wanting to lick it up and I smile for a moment, knowing he’d let me and I decide not to ask, not to wait, wanting this for myself as well. 

I ease his zipper open and peel the sides back, my tongue dipping in and I shudder, groaning deeply at his offering to me, in it’s purest form. I lick it up, keeping my licks soft and light, not trying to entice too much and stop when I would have to undress him more, reluctant to do so. I force myself up, panting and raise my head to the skies, licking my lips.

I wonder idly if he knows how deeply I am tied to him now, how deeply I need. If it is the same for him. My eyes drop to his unconscious face again, framed by fanned out hair, relaxed in afterglow, and my stomach seizes with the memory of the words that set this off. I breathe deeply and a suspiciously saccharine smile tugs at my lips, one that I am rather glad he cannot see just now. I whisper.

„I love you as well, mylimasis.“

The words ring hard in my ears, even though they were spoken so low and yet, yet… it is different if you mean them. I shake my head slowly, carefully zip him up again and then crawl over to his head, needing to be closer to him, needing to be there when he wakes up. I swallow, and then turn him softly onto his side, carefully positioning his body. I lean back against the wall, and try to rein in my emotions, before reaching for his head and lifting it up softly, scooting closer so I can place it in my lap. 

My head falls back, against the wall and I wonder what those that know of me would think now. What those that know my name would think now. What those that know what I have done, what I became, would think of me now.

What -she- would think now, now, that I have learned to love again.

I close my eyes and conjure her laugh from my memory palace, easier now somehow, not hidden behind her desperate screams anymore. The paths of my memory palace have been redrawn, it’s parlors and rooms rearranged through and for his presence. A smile tugs at my mouth, remembering the elation I felt when I discovered him there, at the entrance and in its visual representation of the norman chapel, after over 1000 days of not having felt him. Of not knowing if he would ever come back. 

My hand starts to stroke his hair of its own volition and I relax with every feathery touch, more and more healed by what he does to me. My other hand traces his collarbone, needing the connection of skin to skin, badly, the contact at once enticing and soothing.

I feel him stir on my legs, small movements and a… shift in the atmosphere around us. He sighs turns onto his back, and I can feel his gaze, can picture it clearly, his eyes radiant in the sun. I can feel the motion of his swallow, hear the almost inaudible painful noise accompanying it. I decide to break the silence.

„I am afraid it will bruise. I apologize for getting carried away.“

Will huffs a laugh, and he raises his left hand to trail his fingers along my mouth and I wonder what he sees, if I have missed a spot, if he sees through the barriers, sees the liberties I have taken with his body, again. Will clears his throat, probably to relieve the pain and he shifts, a bit restless and I realize he must still feel sticky and the thought comes with a curious relief, my … indiscretion staying my own, mine to relive. His voice, gravelly and raw, draws my attention back to him.

„Please, you can get carried away as often as you want. So, this is the reward I get when I say that I love you? That’s some fantastic conditioning, you’ve got going….“

I swallow, the words once more taking my breath. I force the almost nauseous elation down, trying to calm myself before I open my eyes, and look down at him, hiding nothing.

„My love for you has destroyed and recreated me. I have sought to destroy it, then nurture it, it’s acceptance almost obliterating me. I had thought myself incapable of feelings such as this since … Misha. I thank you.“

He looks at me, slightly frowning. Taken by my words, yes, but also waiting and of course I know, of course it is obvious. And yet, I cannot, not yet, cannot tell them to his conscious self. For some reason I know he has to force the words out of me, with our combined darkness, their existence too precious to just hand over. 

I force a smirk and trace the scar on his forehead, always reminding me of how I almost lost him by my own hand.

„I believe you know exactly how I feel for you, my wicked boy. I will say it to you when I feel it is appropriate.“

He raises his eyebrows, expression somewhat unbelieving but amused at the same time, probably naming me quite a few times in his mind. And then he surprises me once more, closing his eyes and trusting me to keep us safe in this little bubble of reality, trusting me to tell him when I am ready. 

I look down onto him and rest my hands slightly on his hair again, resuming my stroking, both of us dozing in the late afternoon sun. 

 

The bubble will not hold forever. 

And when it bursts, our brilliant, beautiful darkness will force my soul to voice the words.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments feed my muse^^  
> Please feed it!!


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